by Nan Higgins
“I know. A worse friend would’ve let me sit in that stall by myself. The smells in there didn’t exactly make our food that palatable.”
“There’s no way I would’ve let you go through that alone.”
“You’ll never be alone either, know why?”
“Why?” She was momentarily blinded by a bright light, and when she opened her eyes and squinted, she saw he’d turned on the flashlight on his cell phone and was shining it under his chin.
“Because I’m always watching you, little girl!” He made his voice deep and menacing. “Mwahahaha!”
“Shut up!” She hit him with a pillow and dissolved into giggles. He grabbed his pillow and popped her in the shoulder, and soon they were smacking each other as quickly as their arms would let them. Finally, out of breath but still laughing, they plopped their pillows down and rested their heads on them.
This was what family was supposed to be. She didn’t have the unconditional love of her parents or sister, and she had no idea if she had a future with Reggie, but she was so grateful and relieved to have Tate. His presence filled all those fractured spaces in her heart, and she felt more relaxed than she had since before Reggie proposed, and she got the call about her mom.
Right before she fell asleep, she heard his sleepy voice murmur, “See? Just like when we were kids.”
Chapter Three
Tate and London sat in the car outside Larry Kopp’s office. “You’re sure you don’t want me to go with you?” he asked.
“I’m sure. Besides, you have a mission, should you choose to accept it.”
“Oh, I accept it.” Tate laughed. “I dream about KC mocha chip cookies more than I’d care to admit.” The KC Cookie Factory was a staple in Keys Crossing. They only sold their baked goods locally. There weren’t many things London missed from her hometown, but KC cookies was one of them. “If I have to go to every market in town.”
“Yeah, good thing there’s only one.” She stepped out of the Jeep and leaned in to wave good-bye. “I’ll text you when I’m done here.”
The Law Office of Larry Kopp was on the second floor of the brick office building. London gave her name to the receptionist, and before she could sit in one of the plush, burgundy-colored chairs in the waiting room, the woman told her Larry was ready to meet with her.
He stood and shook her hand, then sat behind his desk. London sat in a chair just like the one in the lobby and folded her hands in her lap.
“Thank you for meeting with me.” He looked through a stack of manila folders on his desk. “Ah,” he said, nodding when he found the one he was looking for. “Here we are.
“As I mentioned yesterday, when one spouse dies, the majority of their estate usually goes to the remaining spouse. That is the case with your mother…mostly. Two years ago, Grace asked if she could make an addendum to her will. Not much changed. The home your parents lived in had been in your mother’s family for years, and your father is now the sole owner. The same with most of her other assets, except for a portion of money your mother allotted to you, provided you agree to follow the instructions.”
“What instructions?”
Larry pulled out a sheaf of papers and handed them over. “I’ll let you read for yourself.”
The top paper was written on thick cream-colored stationery with the letters “GC” in gold script on the top right-hand corner. Grace’s unmistakable, orderly handwriting in navy blue ink covered the page:
Dear London,
We’ve been estranged many years now. My expectation is that we will not reconcile before my death because we both have very strong feelings about what is the appropriate way to live one’s life, and our views are diametrically opposed to the point of no accommodation.
I know you believe you were born a certain way. You think you were a radical from the beginning and that you have followed the life path that was destined for you based on the way your DNA was arranged. How short your memory can be, my daughter.
I found this school project a few days ago while I was going through some of your old things. It reminded me of the London I raised, the London I knew you were going to be. I know while I’m alive, you won’t even consider what I’m asking of you, but I hope my death will be a catalyst to open your mind. And if that’s not enough, maybe a bit of inheritance will motivate you. I know you’re proud of your non-materialistic lifestyle, but everyone can benefit from some extra money.
I didn’t raise you to be the person you’ve become. You’re better than what you’re doing. Please take this opportunity to live up to your full potential.
Sincerely,
Grace Craft
London set the letter down on Larry’s desk with a trembling hand. “What’s this all about, Mr. Kopp?”
“Larry,” he said. “And I think it’s better if you continue reading. Would you like me to get you some water?”
She nodded. “Yes, please.”
“I’ll be right back.” He rested his hand on her shoulder as he walked past.
She sat with her eyes closed for a moment. After a few deep breaths, she looked down at the next piece of paper. It had the heading “Letters to the Future; Mrs. Watson, Fifth Grade.” Under the heading were detailed instructions from London’s fifth grade teacher saying that each child was to write a letter to themselves as an adult, discussing goals they would like to reach by a certain age, designated by the child writing the letter. The letters would then be sent home and hopefully saved for the child to read in the future. Maybe even on the birthday of the chosen age, the instructions suggested.
After reading Mrs. Watson’s instructions twice, London placed them on Larry’s desk. She looked up as he reentered with a glass of water. She thanked him, took a few gulps, and set that on the desk, as well.
The final document was a piece of mint green construction paper with her own messy ten-year-old handwriting in orange marker. She smiled. Her penmanship wasn’t much better now.
Dear London (Age Forty),
Happy birthday from back in time! I hope you’re having a good birthday. I hope someone made you a cake, and you got to eat it in bed for breakfast. Maybe that makes up for how old you are now?
My teacher says we’re supposed to predict what life will be like at the age we choose, and we need to set at least five goals we want to achieve by the time we look at these letters again. I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want to accomplish by the time I turn forty, and I think I have a pretty good list now.
1. Wear business suits every day.
2. Get a job in marketing.
3. Fall in love with a really awesome boy.
4. Get married.
5. Volunteer at least once a week to help people in need.
6. Have a dog named Chowder.
I chose the age of forty because it gives me plenty of time to do all the things on my list, with some extra years in case of unexpected events like not being able to find a dog who answers to Chowder. I guess I’ll see this letter again in thirty years.
Sincerely,
London (Age Ten)
London read the letter three times before setting it down, settling back in her chair, and closing her eyes. “I have absolutely no memory of this.”
“That’s not surprising,” Larry said. “I can’t remember much of my schoolwork. I’m quite a bit older than you, but I don’t think that’s unusual.”
“No. I mean, I have no memory of wanting those things. Any of them. I’d say my mother was making it up, but that’s definitely my handwriting.”
“Maybe now is a good time to go over the conditions of your inheritance.”
“All right.”
He opened the folder and took out a sheet of paper. “As I said, your mother requested an addendum be added to her will. I’ll read it to you: ‘I, Grace Elizabeth Craft, being of sound mind and body, wish to give my daughter, London Victoria Craft, a sum in the total amount of one hundred thousand dollars upon my death. The funds will be transferred to my daughter
on the condition that she completes the items in her own written letter (attached).
“‘London will have one year from receipt of this notice to complete every item on the list. Upon completion of these items, one hundred thousand dollars will be transferred directly to London. If every item is not completed within the allotted one-year time frame, this addendum will be null and void, and London Craft will receive no inheritance. Signed, Grace Elizabeth Craft.’”
Larry peered over the tops of his bifocals. “That’s it.”
London realized her mouth was open and popped it closed. She shook her head, simultaneously trying to absorb what she’d just heard while also dealing with her disbelief.
“Is this…is this even legal?” she finally asked.
“I admit, it pushes some legal boundaries.” Larry took his glasses off and cleaned them with the front of his sweater-vest. “And enforceability would be a challenge. However, if you went to court to challenge the validity of the will, the judge would most likely find that you’re not entitled to anything. If we work through this privately, you’ll—”
“Wait. You don’t think I’m actually going to do this, do you?”
“Well—”
“Because I’m not doing it. I’m not becoming a completely different person to appease the dying wish of a crazy woman.”
“You think your mother was crazy?”
London waved her hand over the papers in front of her. “Don’t you?”
“No. I think your mother had no idea how to connect with you, as much as she wanted to. I think she waited to ask you to do things in death that she didn’t dare to ask in life.”
“If you really think Grace Elizabeth Craft was scared to ask me to change, you didn’t know her at all. When I was a teenager figuring out who I was, she did nothing but demand that I change. She demanded that I be the daughter she wanted. The daughter who would grow up to have the fancy job, the immaculate home, and above all else, the perfect husband.” London picked up the green construction paper. “She demanded that I be the woman who has a life like the one on this list and made it clear I wouldn’t be a part of her family anymore if I was going to ‘live that gay lifestyle.’” She felt her neck and face flush as they always did when she was really angry.
“I understand,” Larry said. “And yet, it wasn’t your mother who made that list, London. It was you.”
She didn’t speak. The anger continued to manifest, and she felt the heat spread to her chest. When she glanced down, she saw that her skin was very pink.
“Listen,” he said. “You’re under no obligation to do this. I, however, am under obligation to disclose all the information to you, and I’ve done that. What happens from here is completely up to you. I’ll give you all the documents to take with you, to do what you’d like.”
London accepted the file with all her papers. “Thanks a lot.”
“You’re welcome.” Larry either didn’t understand or chose to ignore her tone. “Good luck to you.”
* * *
London rapped on the solid wooden door at her parents’ house. After waiting a few moments, she raised her fist to knock again when Diana opened the door.
Her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”
“Good, I’m glad you’re here.” London sidestepped her twin and went inside the house. “I can talk to both of you.” She strode toward the den, assuming, even after all these years, that it was still where her dad spent most of his time.
“I don’t know if now is a good time,” Diana said, trailing after her.
“That’s not true; it’s the perfect time.” She stood in the doorway of the den. It was still the horrid forest green her father thought was distinguished but always made the room feel oppressive to her.
Her dad sat in one of two high-backed chairs arranged in front of the fireplace. He had a book in his hands but must have heard her coming because he was already studying her with a frown. “We weren’t expecting you.”
She laughed, and there was no humor in it. “You mean you weren’t expecting your ostracized daughter who you cast out without a second thought almost twenty years ago? No. I’d imagine you weren’t expecting me.”
Diana moved across the room and sat in the empty chair beside their father. “Daddy, she just barged in without even waiting to see if you’d be able to talk to her and—”
He held up his hand. “That’s all right, Diana.” He reached to the small table beside him, picked up his pipe, and lit it. “What seems to be the reason for your visit?”
“It’s amazing,” London said. “You can sit there like the last two decades didn’t even happen. Like I stop in a few times a week to talk about the weather and the neighbor’s cat. You don’t even acknowledge that I was forced out of this family.”
“You did that to yourself,” Diana said. “You could have chosen not to live the way you live.”
“You mean being gay. You can say the word; it won’t make you catch the gay virus. And while we’re talking about choices, let me ask you, when did you choose to be straight?”
“That’s enough,” their dad said. “London, you obviously have a reason to be here. Would you mind telling us what that is?”
She trudged to where they sat and dropped the file on the table between them. “Did you know about this? Either of you?” She stood with her arms folded, watching them pass the contents of the file back and forth until they’d read the papers inside.
“I don’t believe this,” Diana said. “You run off to live a life of moral corruption, and you get rewarded with one hundred thousand dollars? Meanwhile, I stayed here, did all the right things, and what do I get? Nothing.” She turned to their father, who must have been reading the addendum for the third time and appeared not to be listening. “Daddy! It’s just not fair!”
“Well, that answers my question about whether you knew,” London muttered. “Dad? I assume by that astonished look on your face that you didn’t either?”
“I did not.”
Diana sulked. “Must be nice to be the prodigal daughter.”
“Nice?” London gathered the papers and shoved them into the folder. “You think it must be nice? Do you have any idea what it’s been like for me being estranged from my family? Of course you don’t.” She trembled with hurt and anger. “My first birthday when I couldn’t come home, I ate cake alone at a diner. When the holidays roll around and people talk about going home for Thanksgiving or Christmas, I have to admit that I don’t have a home or a family anymore. And I wasn’t here when my mother died.” Her voice broke. “Trust me, nothing about this is nice.”
She turned to leave. When she got to the door, she heard her father call her name. He was a few steps behind, his face grave.
“I won’t come back unannounced if that’s what you’re worried about.” She clutched the folder tightly with both hands.
“That isn’t what I’m worried about,” he said slowly. “London…your mother and I…”
“Yes?”
“Parents invest in their children. With money, yes, but also with a lot of effort. It’s our job to instill morals and values in you. And we did that. We worked very hard. Surely you must understand how frustrating it is to put years of your life into a person who then goes against all the principles you’ve taught them. What were we to do? We couldn’t very well just ignore your loss of moral compass.”
“Wow. Yeah, it’s a real shame your investment didn’t bring the kind of return you expected.”
“Come now, I’m just trying to explain—”
“Oh, you explained perfectly. My being gay was a deal breaker for the right to be your daughter. It doesn’t matter that I’m a good person, a compassionate friend, a hard worker, a loyal girlfriend. It doesn’t matter that I run a successful business or that I have two master’s degrees. Who I love is a deal breaker, and nothing else about me matters enough for you to let me be in your family.”
“If you’d just given yourself a chance to meet the ri
ght man—”
“I’m out of here,” she said. “I could talk for days about why there was never going to be the right man, but you won’t listen, and we’d end up right here again. With me standing in the foyer, one foot already out the door.” Before he could say another word, she got outside and slammed the door behind her.
* * *
Tate sped down the highway in London’s old Jeep. “Read them to me again,” he said.
“I’ve already read them to you three times,” London said.
“I know. Maybe the fourth time will be the one where it starts making sense.”
“I doubt it.” She closed the file with a sigh.
“I can’t believe your mom is trying to pay the gay away. After she’s dead, no less!”
“Oddly enough, I can believe it.”
“That’s because you got to read it a fourth time.”
She didn’t even have to look at him to hear the smirk in his voice. “Ha ha. Tater Tot made a joke.”
“Call me that again, and you’ll walk the rest of the way home. That name wasn’t even funny when we were kids.”
“Agree to disagree on that.”
“Anyway,” he said loudly, “why are you not surprised about all this?”
She shrugged. “It’s high drama. It’s bribery. It’s got Grace written all over it.”
“Literally.”
“Yep.”
He glanced at her. “What are you not saying?”
“I just don’t know what to do with this.” She smoothed the corner of the file with her hand.
“What do you mean? It’s not like you’re gonna go through with this insanity.”
“Of course not. Do you remember this project? These letters? You were in Mrs. Watson’s class; you would’ve had to do this too.”
He shook his head. “I don’t, but that doesn’t mean anything. I can’t remember any other schoolwork from her class either.”
